


Let it Go

by BlameMyMuses



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Glove Fetish, M/M, Masturbation, One-Sided Relationship, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 08:30:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlameMyMuses/pseuds/BlameMyMuses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave has a thing for Bro. And Bro's gloves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let it Go

**Author's Note:**

> Because fingerless gloves are sexy. Just try and deny it. ;)
> 
> "Underage" because of 13 and 16-year-olds masturbating. 'S about it. 
> 
> Also, this is my first posted Homestuck fic. :D

When you were twelve, you stole your Bro's spare pair of fingerless leather gloves. They were worn, well loved before being traded in for the new pair he wore. You used to put them under your nose and inhale deeply before stashing them inside your pillowcase, each night before bed.

 

It was your guilty secret.

 

When you were thirteen, the secret got guiltier.

 

You had slid them on once, as an experiment. His hands were still much larger than yours, but the feeling of that cool leather against your palm was...intoxicating, really. Exhilarating, even. You remember, even today, the first time the thought crossed your mind. _What would it feel like_ , you had wondered. Bro was out, and you had a lock on your door...

 

But you hadn't done it. Not then. Not for a few days. But it was the first time you had wondered consciously what it would be like for his hands to touch you. It was only a matter of time before you had caved in to the impulse, pulled the gloves from their hiding place, and put them on.

 

Door, locked. Bro, gone for at least an hour. Hands? Encased in loose leather, so big just your fingertips peaked out. You had settled back in bed, propped up with a thin pillow, with skinny jeans and underwear pushed down around your knees. You were already hard with anticipation, and envisioning his hands on you—the gloves making the fantasy all the more real—you hadn't lasted long.

 

It became a nightly ritual. You started hiding the gloves somewhere else when the stains became obvious. Bro could _not_ find out. The vent beneath your bed became a vault of secrets—lube, tissues, porn mags filled with blond men, and those gloves. When you became worried he'd find the stash, you had quietly captchalogued them, because he could _never_ find them there.

 

And then, of course, the game had happened. You forgot about them, whilst fighting for your life. Things like masturbation took a necessary back seat in favor of survival and strifes and other more immediate problems. And Bro had died, and you'd held his hand, refusing to cry over him, and somehow those gloves had lost their magic. Your last memory of his hands was spoilt.

 

Three years on the asteroid, though... That's a long time. You were going through your sylladex, clearing out old junk, sorting between useful stuff and pointless garbage, when you found them again. The leather is as worn thin as you remember, as supple to the touch. You freeze when you find them, holding them in slightly shaking fingers.

 

When you pull them on, tugging at the wrists slightly to get them positioned comfortably, you are surprised to find that they almost fit now. Still a bit loose through the palm, but your fingers seem to be about as long as his ever were. In a rush, you suddenly remember how it felt to touch yourself, pretending it was him. You remember the friction of those leather palms against sensitive skin, and before you're even aware of what you're doing, you have a hand down your pants, cupping yourself.

 

There, kneeling on the cold floor of your room, you rut furiously into your fist, imagining again that it's his hand around you, that the wall to your back is his chest you're being held against as he jerks you off.

 

When you come, your head jerks back so fast your head hits the stone wall with a crack. You're seeing stars and your dick is pulsing slowly in your fist, and your thighs are shaking. The breath you try to suck in is shuddering, guilty all over again, and more so than ever because Bro is _gone_ and here you are, still madly in lo—

 

Still infatuated.

 

Obsessed, even.

 

You pull the gloves off, hands shaking so badly it takes a few minutes. You stare at them like you're seeing them for the first time. It's _time to let go_ , you think. Long past time, in fact.

 

Without looking, you toss them in with the trash. It's time to move on.

 

 


End file.
